


Peach Tea, Mild

by AgentCoop



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon Related, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Domestic, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut, Future Fic, Living Together, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Recovery, Returning Home, bucky and steve deserve a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:40:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: After a hundred years of being 'Cap', the serum finally fails. Rather than take Tony up on his offer to fix it, Steve and Bucky use the opportunity to finally escape a life of saving the world and focus on saving themselves.Basically, an excuse to try my hand at writing happy boys being in love <3





	1. Chapter 1

It was odd that he never once considered this a possibility. He considered death. He considered failure. He hoped for success. They poked and prodded, shut him in a tube, and he emerged something out of Greek myth; beautiful, perfect, deadly. He wondered why it never occurred to him that it might not be forever.

He'd voice the thought, _of course it wouldn't last_ —but it scattered to fragments in his pounding head. He would ask, _what's happening_ —but when his mouth opened, another piercing shriek emerged. It's the sort of pain he wasn't used to feeling. He'd been hit, and shot, and drowned, but this was the pain of disintegration, the sort of pain he had only ever experienced one other time, in the tube.

He wasn't in a lab this time. He wasn't hooked up to monitors, with scientists gazing down at him, scrawling notes with dark ink. He was lying on his bed in his perfectly authentic 21st century apartment and his limbs were splayed out, muscles contracted in some sort of deadly rigor. He thought he was still breathing. He felt ripping heat tearing apart his lungs in rhythmic pulses so he figured the organs were still functioning—breathing. There was the weight of a hand on top of his own that pressed down and he thought he squeezed a response. Bucky. Bucky was here. _It'll be fine..._

He gasped out another breath and tried not to think about the pain in his chest that reminded him all too closely of closed-off memories; of what he used to be. He could feel dampness on the pillow; sweat, tears. Another excruciating flare of electricity coursed through his muscles and his jaw snapped open. He finally screamed. The authentic 21st century apartment faded to black.

***

Bucky held onto Steve's hand throughout the night. He felt every shudder and convulsion. It was a slow process this time around. He watched the bones shrink and re-knit. After the first few hours, Steve had stopped screaming. Now, it was silent in the room.

His left hand carded gently through Steve's hair. It was still amazing to him, even after all these years, that he could feel each individual strand fall into place with the tips of his fingers. Steve's hair was so soft—and he kept it longer now that they didn't have to fight so much. Steve kept saying he was gonna get it cut again, shave it real close, like it used to be. He never did though, and Bucky liked it that way.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he carefully pulled his hand free and reached over.

 **Tony:** _I've got the lab set up. Sent a car. Be there in ten minutes. Let the docs load him in._

Bucky sighed, and picked up the phone with his metal hand. He fumbled for a second, not wanting to relinquish his grip on Steve with his right.

_Don't bother. He's doing alright. Thanks though._

He started to set the phone down when it buzzed again.

 **Tony:** _Probably don't have the best judgment pal. I really think you ought to let my team look him over. I've already been running his blood, isolating fragments of the serum as it breaks down. Pretty sure I'm on to the reversal. But I need him before it dissolves out of his system completely._

Bucky leaned back in his chair. His head was pounding from the stress of the night, from the worry. His eyes flickered back to Steve, who was starting to breath easier again. He was layed out on his back, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with Bucky's own. He looked small against the large king bed. Delicate. Bucky looked down to his hand that was wrapped around Steve's. He carefully released his fingers and pulled away. Steve's hands were still calloused, but in new, different areas. That itched against Bucky's memory, and suddenly, he could almost smell paint thinner.

Steve's hands didn't look like those of a fighter anymore. They looked like those of an artist. Bucky glanced back over at the phone's screen.

_I'm serious. We're not coming. He's done enough. He's been fighting long enough. Sorry, Tony. We're out._

He pressed 'send' and set the phone back down. Ignoring the return buzz, he stood up from the chair and stretched upward, then rolled his arms back a few times trying to loosen the muscles. He looked down at Steve, and smiled—a sad, but hopeful thing. Then he carefully crawled under the covers and wrapped his arms around the smaller body. He buried his nose in the nape of Steve's neck and inhaled deeply. The memories kept spiraling out around him, releasing their tendrils up towards the sunlight.

“You've done enough, Steve.”

He closed his eyes.

***

Steve woke from a dream he'd had many times. He blinked away remnants of ice, of terror, and groaned as his head started to pound in time with his heart. He felt Bucky's arms around him, felt them tense up, and then Bucky was awake too.

“How you feelin', champ?”

Steve grimaced, “Christ, don't call me that. You used to call me that. Just...” he paused, and untangled himself from the blankets, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Don't.” He ran his hands through his hair, and tried to think.

“Sorry.”

He felt Bucky move behind him, and leave the bed for a moment—heard him walk around and stand for a split second, before sitting down next to him.

“Really, though. How're you feeling?”

Steve looked over at him—looked up at him for the first time in a century.

“Fine. Nothing hurts. I'm fine.” He looked back down. He needed to call Tony. He needed to get over to the lab, find out information. They'd tried to replicate the serum before—Jesus, they practically had replicated it on Bucky. He'd work it out and they'd fix it, he'd be fine...

“Steve.”

Steve groaned and looked back over. “I'm fine, Buck. Seriously. Thanks for...staying with me, and all, but I need to call Tony—” he paused for a moment, eyes lighting on the phone. “I need to figure out what went wrong and fix it.”

Bucky suddenly reached across the bed and grabbed his hand.

“Hey. You've spent a hundred years trying to save them all. You don't owe the world anything else. You're finally free.”

Steve looked up into Bucky's eyes—saw the sincerity, the pleading.

“I can't, Buck. I can't go back to that sick kid. I can't fight back that way—”

Bucky kissed him. Steve closed his eyes, and reached up. He placed his palm on the side of Bucky's jaw and pressed in for a moment, then pulled back again. Bucky swallowed, then cupped Steve's hand in his own.

“You're free, Stevie.”

He could get lost in those eyes. He saw the pure pools of calm reflecting himself—small once again. He felt in his heart before anything else. A small smile bloomed across his face.

Bucky smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet. Clearly I suck at getting to smut. Clearly I am just using this as an excuse to wax poetic about road trips...

They bought a blue Honda CRV and traveled the country. Bucky gave him shit about the car choice, but Steve insisted that it was 2044 and Honda’s were still selling--which just showed an ongoing trend in safety, responsibility, and customer care. 

The Honda customer service _was_ pretty great. But the thing was blue. A little apropos. 

Bucky remembered being 19 again, and reading those sci-fi pulps, then imagining the future. He always figured there’d be self driving cars, and teleporting humans, and maybe some sort of innovation in the caloric content of a chocolate bar. The world had done the self driving car thing, true. But it somehow turned out that people just missed the control. The god-complex of the human species hadn’t been bred out yet--they still wanted power of some sort. Regular cars came back into fashion at some point in the 2020s and the self-drivers slowly faded their way into extinction.

So they bought the car, and Bucky cracked jokes about how they ought to adopt a few kids to fill the back seats, or at least get a large dog, and Steve just smiled. In the end, Steve was right. (He frequently was.) The car was comfortable, the gas mileage was great, and it was just big enough that if they ended up too far off the beaten path, they could recline the seats and sleep comfortably--hands still intertwined.

***

They visited the Grand Canyon. It’s peaks were larger than anything Bucky could have imagined. He’d always wanted to go someday. He was largely traveled in his past, but his memories were sometimes still fuzzy, and sometimes filled with oily red, and sometimes made him close his eyes tightly and fist his hands through his hair and count his breaths in for five and out for three. He made new memories, and let Steve paint over the old.

They spent days out in the National Park. Steve was still sick, but now they made medicines that helped. He’d pop a pill in the morning, and be able to climb mountains without so much as a hitch in his breathing. The best part about the future was the medication. They hiked for miles, then sat for hours letting the sun bake their skins ‘till they turned the color of the red-banded rock that surrounded the gorge. The best part about the future was each other.

Steve carried a sketchbook and pencils and charcoal with him. He’d get a soft look on his face sometimes and Bucky would revel in their new peace. The nights were chilly, but they had blankets and tents in the car and they would find a perfect spot, a new spot, every night and gaze up at the sky. There was no city sound, no light pollution--just the gentle hum of the wind around them, and the sound of complacent breathing. They huddled under the blankets, Steve’s head tucked under Bucky’s chin, and Bucky’s arm cradled around Steve’s back, and it was everything.

***

“You ready to settle yet?”

Bucky looked up from the book that was propped between his knees. They were in the car once again, driving North along the Oregon coast. He dog-eared the page,a habit Steve perpetually nagged him about, then placed the worn volume down. 

“Like, find a place? Stop moving around? Not have to listen to your obnoxious off-key humming every moment of the day?”

Steve glanced over and glared at him.

“Glad you’re being serious as always. Yes, settle. I think I want a home again.”

“I mean, sure. I don’t have to live there with you, do I?” Bucky grinned. 

“I swear to God, I’m gonna leave you at a rest stop, Buck.”

Bucky laughed, then reached over and ruffled Steve’s hair. 

“Nah, you love me too much, pal.” His eyes grew serious for a moment in though. “Where were you thinking? Back to the city?”

“No.” Steve spoke softly. He was watching the road again, and his fingers were drumming on the wheel in time to an invisible beat. “I’m ready for something new. I think I want a house. A real one. No apartments this time around--” he looked over to Bucky who was nodding along. “A fresh start. A backyard.” He paused another moment, then added quietly, “An apple tree.”

Bucky tucked his leg up against the window, with his foot on the dash, and smiled. 

“Hell, Steve. Let’s get a peach tree, too. Let’s buy a whole God-damned orchard.”

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

They finally settled on a rental house in a tiny farming community just outside of Walla Walla, Washington. It was quaint, the white paint was peeling from the shingles, and the air smelled vaguely of cow manure and worse from the paper mill 50 miles North. It also was situated on 476 acres of land complete with cherry trees, apple trees, pear trees, and of course, peach trees. It was home.

Steve and Bucky signed the agreement on a Sunday afternoon and moved in the next morning. They were taking over the land on a month to month basis--the woman renting it to them explained how her parents had recently passed and the property had been left to her. She had memories of running through the orchards, of hauling hay and feed for the horses, of waking up at dawn and working the land with blood and sweat. She figured it was the only honest work she’d ever done in her life. She figured she still didn’t want to give up her CEO salary out in Seattle to come back to the farm life in a world where farmers were extinct, food was lab-grown from inorganic material and flavored with technology. 

Steve asked her if she’d consider selling the place. She looked over at Bucky and her eyes narrowed, in almost recognition. 

“We’ll just stick with the month to month for now.”

***

“Do you miss it, Buck?”

They were walking out way behind the house, down along a little creek that ran perpendicular to the property. Bucky kept walking, eyes ahead.

“Buck.” Steve nudged at his shoulder a bit.

“Hmm?”

“Do you miss what you had? Being a hero? Saving the world?” He was still looking at Bucky’s face, so he saw the shadow of pain that flickered across, before Bucky returned his gaze and snorted.

“I don’t think I was ever much of a hero, Stevie.”

Steve grabbed ahold of Bucky’s hand and purposely led them over towards a large rock that perched on the bank of the water. It had become their evening sitting spot, where they could lean, back to back, against each other and listen to the world.

“You’re just as much a hero as I ever was.” He murmured it softly, but the words hung, heavy in the air.

Bucky looked over at him, and gave a weak smile. 

“No. I don’t. I don’t miss anything anymore.” His smile grew, then faded again. Steve could always read Bucky like an open book--he never could hide an emotion to save his life. He spoke again, more pained this time. “Do you? Miss it, I mean?”

Steve thought for a moment. They reached the rock and took a moment to settle in next to each other--Bucky’s arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

“I don’t miss anything anymore.” Bucky squeezed his hand and he continued. “When I was young, I thought I was missing the chance to do something great--something good. Then, once I got that, I spent a hundred years missing what could have been.” He looked up and Bucky was watching him, his dark eyes so serious. Steve leaned over and kissed him deeply. He closed his own eyes for a moment and reached his hand around the nape of Bucky’s neck, pulling him closer, then let go. “There’s nothing left to miss.”

“Oh, Steve.” Then Bucky leaned back in and their lips met again. 

The stream burbled on, and somewhere among the orchard, a pheasant began to call.

***

Bucky bought a horse. 

It seemed a little wild, and it seemed extremely imprudish, and it certainly was mad, but he noticed the way Steve looked with yearning towards the empty stables each day. He remembered vividly the stories Steve used to tell while they ate Sarah’s bean stew on the third floor of the tenements--the stories of saving the world, then riding West, and escaping into the sunset and never looking back.

They saved the world. They had each other. And now they had a horse.

His name was Adolin, and even though Steve wrinkled up his nose at the foreign sounding word, as soon as he tried it out the colt gave a whiney of delight. 

Bucky also hired a stable-hand to come during the days. She was a weathered, older lady named Elisa and Steve spent most afternoons shadowing her. He was determined to learn how to properly care for the young horse and do everything exactly correctly. She was a good sport--she showed him how to muck the stables, and haul the feed, and brush Adolin’s coat. Steve relished every moment, while Bucky looked on with a smile on his face.

His dreams weren’t as frequent anymore. His moments of frozen terror were fewer as well. His memory wasn’t returning. Oh, he would get the occasional vivid image that would imprint itself so suddenly and permanently that he knew it was a part of his past, but there were still gaping holes that would never be filled. The edges seemed less jagged now though--they seemed almost soft, like he could skim over each and patch it closed carefully, filling it with the stuff of the now.

It was an epilogue of sorts, and though the current threatened to advance as he waded deeper, he was not afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I swore when I sat down to write that this was finally going to be the smut chapter! And lo and behold...
> 
> ...it was not.

In January of 2046, Steve was jolted out of a deep sleep by a shriek of pain.

He soaked washcloths in cold water, and laid them on Bucky’s brow. He covered him in warm, woolen blankets when the shivering got too intense. He grasped Bucky’s hand, and held his fist to his own mouth and bit as hard as he could to not cry out in tandem with the screams. He knew what this felt like, and he hated it, but God he was so damned relieved. He bent over and kissed Bucky gently on the temple, then squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of muscle contractions made their way through Bucky’s body. 

***

He texted Sharon a few hours later.

He hadn’t stayed in touch with many of them--barely any. But he’d always liked her, and he trusted her. When they first found the house, he let her know they were alive and well, then passed along the address. The first Christmas they spent in the burning desert cold, she sent them a box, full of cookies and pies and a letter--handwritten!--detailing the official retirement of their old friends.

She didn’t ask after him, or Bucky. She knew he’d reach out if he wanted. She was good like that--independent, self-sufficient. 

_You were right._

He waited and watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest under the thick blankets. His skin was damp with sweat, but he was breathing easier now. 

His phone beeped, and he looked down in surprise, not expecting an answer back so soon.

Sharon: _I’m always right. I can’t do much from here, do you need anything? Want me to call it in and report?_

Steve smiled. Sharon was always uncompromising in her modesty, or lack thereof. It was a bit like talking to Tony--only Sharon was actually helpful. He thought for a moment longer, then gently released Bucky’s hand and stood up, moving towards the open window. The sun was just barely cresting the horizon and it showered the land in soft pink hues. Steve could see the horse pasture, and the barn from the window--but he couldn’t see Adolin yet, who would still be deep inside the wooden stables. He’d need to get outside soon and muck out his stall, feed him, then continue about the myriad of small tasks he completed every morning to keep the land fertile and the farm going. 

The myriad of small tasks he completed to feel human--to feel the ache in his bones each night, and the soreness in his muscles. 

_We’re fine. I made it to the other side, and Buck’s always been stronger._

He sent the message, then grimaced.

_How’s Tony?_

He went to the kitchen to fill a glass of water, and walked back to the room, setting it softly on Bucky’s nightstand.

Sharon: _He’s still pissed at Barnes. Doesn’t think he had any right to make that decision for you. Hasn’t gotten over it._

_He’s gotten even more disagreeable in his old age._

Sharon: _Haven’t we all._

There was a short pause, and Steve reached over to smooth back wet curls from Bucky’s forehead.

Sharon: _He misses you, Steve._

He didn’t know what to write back to that.

Sharon: _I don’t know what kind of crazy stuff he has rigged up with his heart right now, but he probably doesn’t have much longer left. He’s old. He trusted you. He wanted to fix the serum so when he was gone, he knew there would be someone left out there saving the world. You deserve your ending. No one disagrees with that. Just let him know that his won’t be in vain. ___

____

His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his chest felt like there was something wrapping tightly around, constricting his air. 

____

_I’ll call him in a few days. Once things settle down here again._

____

He slumped down in his chair and cradled his head in his hands, breathing deeply for a few moments. There was a morning chill coming in through the windows that smelled like horses, and frost, and ever so faintly of wet dirt. He shook his head and reached for his phone one last time.

____

_Can you pass along our address? To Tony. And Natasha? And whoever you think might need it. I trust you. Thank you for everything._

____

He looked up and Bucky’s eyes were open, slightly glazed over, but watching intently. 

____

“Buck!” Steve shot up out of his chair and over to the bed.

____

“Watch it, punk.” Bucky spoke weakly and reached out towards Steve’s face, then paused--his hand outstretched in front of him.

____

“I have...that scar, the one near my pinky? From when we were kids and--”

____

“--you were scaling the decks back behind the tenements and you got a rusty nail through the finger?” Steve finished Bucky’s thought and grinned reaching for his hand and taking it between his own. He rubbed his own pointer finger over the small scar, and looked down at Bucky.

____

“The serum?”

____

Steve nodded and couldn’t help the smile of joy that appeared. “You ready to grow old, together?”

____


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter felt terrible to me. I went back and massively edited, added, and actually finished the story now.
> 
> Really sorry for all you who read chapter 5 as it was previously--it just wasn't cutting it that way! I am much happier now.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the love and support :)

“Jesus Christ, Stevie. Quit poking at my face.”

Steve laughed and pulled his hand back, while keeping eye-contact with Bucky through the bathroom mirror. “It’s so....distinguished.” He reached out again, feeling at the rough hairs on Bucky’s chin.

Bucky turned the razor back on and waved it threateningly at Steve’s fingers--grinning as Steve pulled back quickly. He leaned forward again, and started at the bottom of his neck while Steve settled in behind him with his arms crossed, looking annoyed. “What?” Bucky yelled.

Steve mouthed something in return, but it sounded fuzzy and garbled over the noise of the electric razor. Bucky clicked it off and turned around. “What?”

“I liked it.”

“Shut up. I’m sure you have a few, too. You’re just too blond to notice ‘em.”

Steve grinned again, and came up behind him wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and nuzzling his face into the space between collarbone and ear before whispering, “I’m still too young for grey hair.”

Bucky twisted around, the razor dropping to the sink below with a clatter and tried to get his arm around Steve’s neck in a choke hold, but Steve had the advantage. He was smaller now, and wiry, but he’d always known how to use his body in a fight. 

Their makeshift wrestling carried them out of the bathroom and up to the bed where Bucky finally squirmed out of Steve’s grip and threw them both on top of the down comforter, the whole of his body weight holding Steve down. He threw up his elbow and managed to pin it on top of Steve’s throat as he writhed beneath him. He could feel Steve sucking in air, and he could feel his heartbeat under his forearm. It was almost in time with his own. He grinned. “Say it.”

Steve sputtered underneath him, and threw his head in all directions trying to get loose, but he couldn’t manage to move enough to gain purchase. He finally stilled and Bucky bent his head down a little closer--enough to brush his nose gently against Steve’s left ear. “Say it,” he whispered again.

“Jerk.”

Bucky moved up slightly and fisted his hand through Steve’s hair--blond, vibrant, and obnoxiously without a single hint of grey. He pulled slightly--enough to make Steve wince. “Stevie…” He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt Steve start to go hard underneath him, then opened them again, and waited.

“Uncle.”

Bucky laughed, and released his grip then slowly rocked back for a moment--watched Steve’s eyes squint closed then open, pupils blown. He lowered his head back down and met Steve’s mouth with his own. Their kiss was long and passionate, and though it never needed to end, Bucky pulled away. He mouthed at Steve’s ear once more as his right hand reached for Steve’s belt buckle, then he slid down slowly.

***

The wind blew strong gusts through Steve’s hair as he rode. He was up in the hills today--miles from their small farm. As he crested the top of one of the ridges, he pulled in Adolin and the horse came to a halt underneath him. Steve felt a shiver of pleasure escape through his skin. There was something so surreal about having the strength to ride for miles, to reign in a horse, to leave the farmstead for the day and not worry about making it back. He knew this body, and still fell prey to the fears that came with being trapped small, but he was harnessing control over that. 

He looked down to the landscape below as Adolin shifted underneath him. The creek that ran through their land was just a part of a mass of tributaries that all connected to the Snake River and they wove through most of the lower countryside here. There were windmills as far as he could see--harnessing the raw power of the air. Steve smiled at that: he had been born into an America that was suffering, and lived through the Great Depression, too many wars to count, and what seemed like an endless political battle on the inevitable destruction of the earth. To be alone in these hills watching the birth of a new age was...peaceful.

Adolin nickered underneath him and Steve reached down to rub along the horse’s jawline. “I know. Bucky’s waiting.”

He turned the horse, and kicked his legs against Adolin’s powerful body and they moved together, back towards home, back towards Bucky.

***

The discovery of their bodies together as they both aged was something magical. The weeks passed and turned to months, which slowly rolled into years and still each moment together was something new--each kiss, each shower, each night. Steve thrived in a world with medication. He still had a small build, but his daily ministrations on the farm and with Adolin had built up muscle in him that he never realized was possible back in 1940. Bucky discovered a love of long distance running, and quickly lost all his muscle mass in favor of the long, lithe figure of a marathoner. He went totally grey within a few years, and at nights when it got just cold enough, his joints in his fingers and hands swelled up so he could barely move them. 

They relished this simple decay of cells. It meant age, and age meant change, and change was inherently human.

In the evening they would sit by the fire, or walk out through the orchards, or find their rock by the creek. They spoke of the trips they would never take, and the world they would never see, and the people they would never meet. They argued over music, and money, and who had done the dishes last. They went to bed angry and hushed, and sometimes they didn’t speak for days but the silence would always end. They lived.

In May of 2068, they got the call from Sharon, and made their way back to New York for Tony’s funeral. He had lived longer than any of them thought possible, even longer than many of their other friends. He’d gone out in typical Tony fashion. He’d spent the last few years of his life unbeknownst to anyone else re-modeling the Avengers tower and turning it into an enormous complex dedicated to space exploration and the future resettlement the human race on nearby planets and moons. There were apartments dedicated to freely housing the staff and their families, and he left his entire fortune to the upkeep and support in hope for a better future. He then donned the suit for one last ride; shot himself as far into space as possible, and crashed down in glorious fashion--calculating it perfectly to land in the uninhabited Sahara.

The pure ego of the entire thing was incredible.

Steve missed him terribly.

That they would live to see friends die seemed too high an admission to pay for what they had now. Steve felt the guilt strongly for not being there--for outliving them all. Bucky whispered the words he’d seen scrawled in Steve’s journal in hushed tones; 

“We deserve an ending.”

“I know.”

***

Sharon passed not long after. She was the last of the Carter line. They traveled to England this time and Steve spoke at her service, then kissed her gently one last time. When he sat back down in the pew of the crowded church, Bucky squeezed his hand tightly and Steve let out a shuddering breath. Their past was ash in their mouths and dust in their eyes. They’d stretched passed their time, into someone else’s world and time felt frozen around them.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, from the comfort of the clean white hotel room bed.

“Hmm?” Steve was standing at the window, watching the drizzle fall on pedestrians.

“Let’s not go home yet.”

Steve turned, and glanced at him sadly. “What?”

Bucky cleared his throat and repeated himself. “Let’s not go home. Yet. We can phone Elisa and she’ll take care of the place for us, she'll take care of Adolin. I want…” he stood up and crossed the room in a few short steps and Steve looked right in those perfect brown eyes. “I want to go back to where we began. Let’s go back to Brooklyn.” 

Steve swallowed and felt his heartbeat quicken. “It feels so lonely now,” he whispered.

“It’s never been lonely with you. Not for a minute.”

Steve reached out and kissed him gently--just long enough to taste the salt on his lips. He nodded, just once, and a slow smile danced at the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to go around again?” He backed up and reached out a hand, as if offering a dance, as if offering a second chance at life.

Bucky took his outstretched palm in his own. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into the swing of things with the writing and what not. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr! [Agent Coop](iamagentcoop.tumblr.com)  
> 


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